


Winterlight.

by jhsdhalr



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-09 22:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhsdhalr/pseuds/jhsdhalr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My version of Sherlock's history. A largely experimental piece written mostly in the first person. Contains somewhat gory character death and child abuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You have to go" says Mycroft solemnly "it's Mummy's 65th. It's a special birthday and she's having a big party. She'll expect you, and John too."

"I said I'd never go back to Winterlight" Sherlock replies. He looks at the floor and then at John and then at the wall behind Mycroft's head.

"This is different" says Mycroft "you HAVE to go. There's no choice. Mummy will be desperately unhappy if you aren't there. You owe it to her to be there. It's just one weekend. Surely you can spare her one weekend."

"I'm not going to Winterlight" says Sherlock stubbornly.

"If you don't go" Mycroft mutters, suddenly looking quite different in the dim light from the lamp behind his chair "I may be forced to take some drastic action."

"What drastic action?" Sherlock asks, leaning toward Mycroft and frowning.

"You know only too well" says Mycroft softly. He stands up. "We'll be expecting you on Friday evening then" he continues "you can have the blue room. It has a very large bed. I'm sure you and John will enjoy it." He goes to the door. "You'll find Winterlight hasn't changed" he says "so don't forget to bring a dress suit." He leaves quietly and the room is silent for a moment.

"OK" says John, having observed the interaction between the Holmes brothers with interest and a degree of worry "what's Winterlight?"

"It's our" Sherlock starts and then pauses for a moment before continuing "I suppose you could call it our ancestral home."

"So" John murmurs "we'll be going there then?" He had recognized the barely concealed threat behind Mycroft's words.

Sherlock stands up and fixes John with a glare that would have unnerved lesser men. "Yes" he says "and don't forget a dress suit and warm clothing. It's freezing up there."

"Right" says John. He is curious about this Winterlight and wonders if he'll discover what makes Sherlock tick while he's there. "I think this might be interesting" he says at last, and adds, trying to defuse the tension in the room a little "I expect to find all the skeletons in your closets while I'm there."

Sherlock sighs. "There was only one" he says "and that was found years ago."

Even more interesting thinks John, roll on Friday. Then he has second thoughts. Sherlock is worried and that is a worry all on its own.


	2. Arrival.

Winterlight proves to be a very large stone building that looks vaguely medieval and even has a tower. Sherlock jumps out of the car that was, miraculously in John's opinion since they hadn't said what time they would be arriving, waiting for them and runs up the steps to the front door. A plump lady wearing an apron is standing in the open doorway, apparently to welcome them. This can't be the famous Mummy, John thinks as he watches Sherlock being enveloped in a massive bear hug. He's actually amazed as Sherlock is definitely not the hugging type. It's terribly cold out in the fresh air and John wishes he could have a hug too, from anyone, anyone warm would do, he thinks.

"Master Sherlock" says the aproned female releasing Sherlock from her grasp "you look thin, what have you been up to?"

"Nothing Mary" says Sherlock, and he's actually smiling, despite complaining constantly on the journey there.

Mary fixes John with an appraising stare. "This is your young man, then?" she says and John is slightly amused at being called a young man and rather flattered as well.

"Yes, Mary" says Sherlock to John's surprise "this is Dr John Watson." He turns to John "John" he says "this is Mary, our housekeeper, she's known me for ever." He looks Mary up and down. "Why the apron, Mary?" he asks.

"Oh" Mary explains, turning and going inside the house with Sherlock following close behind "we have new staff and some of them-----" she trails off and then says "Ives will take up your luggage. He's fairly new too but a good worker." 

John goes into the house behind Sherlock and finds himself in a massive entrance hall complete with the largest staircase he's ever seen. The ceiling is very high and is adorned with what appear to be naked cherubs eating grapes. He hears footsteps behind him and turns to see a tall red headed man carrying their suitcases. Ives, he thinks and wonders if the poor man has a first name.

The blue room really is blue and so is the adjoining bathroom. It's all so blue that it makes John's head spin. He sits down on the four poster bed, which, of course, has blue sheets and blue pillows and blue everything else and wonders what sort of a place this is, it's so big. He had no idea it would be so big and imposing. He can't help wondering how Mrs Holmes can afford it. It's freezing cold though. Saving on heating bills John mutters to himself as he looks around the room.

Sherlock sits down on the bed beside John. "I was born here" he says quietly "and so was Mycroft."

"It's not what I expected" John tells him "it's so big and impressive and it even has a tower. I'd like to go up there. I bet it has a great view."

"The tower" Sherlock says "is kept locked. No-one can enter. It's been sealed for twenty four years." There's something in his voice as he speaks. It's a warning. Like a do not trespass sign. 

"I'm sure an exception could be made" John says, ignoring the warning 'don't go there' which is ringing in his head "and if it isn't you could pick the lock. I'd love to see the view, or maybe it isn't safe" he adds after a thought "is that why it's kept locked?"

Sherlock stands up abruptly. "I'm going to take a shower and change" he mutters "and about the tower, someone was killed there. No-one can ever enter. Ever. Do you understand?"

John wonders who died in the tower and how and then thinks, Sherlock said killed. He wonders if it was, in fact, a murder. Perhaps that was what got Sherlock so interested in solving crime, especially murders. His idea that this would be an interesting weekend is becoming increasingly likely. Murder in the Tower, he says aloud to himself, I wonder who it was.

At dinner John at last meets Mrs Holmes. She looks, somewhat alarmingly, rather like a shorter grey haired version of Mycroft. As he and Sherlock enter the dining room, she is already seated at the head of the longest dining table John has ever seen. It seats 28 people, one at each end and 13 along each side. Obviously, John thinks, the Holmes family are not superstitious. He and Sherlock sit together half way down one side. This seems odd to John but Sherlock went straight to a certain seat, so John sat down next to him.

"This is John, Mummy" says Sherlock. John starts to get up to introduce himself properly but Mrs Holmes waves a hand at him and tells him to not to bother as she can see him quite well. Sherlock gets up himself instead and goes to his Mother. He places a swift and seemingly reluctant kiss on her forehead. 

"You look thin, Sherlock" she says to him firmly, pursing her lips "are you still not eating?"

"I eat enough, Mummy" Sherlock replies as he sits back down again next to John "I'm just naturally skinny."

"You were such a lovely little boy" says his Mother "before-----".

"Yes" says Sherlock quickly interrupting her "we were all lovely before."

Mycroft comes in just then and goes over to kiss his Mother on one cheek. "I'm sure the blue room is proving to be a success" he remarks, looking at Sherlock and John and winking, which John finds extremely irritating.

"It's fine" says Sherlock stiffly.

The meal is a somewhat awkward affair. There is a soup starter, then a fish course, then the main meal, which is lamb, then a dessert and then cheese and biscuits. The meal lasts for ages and Sherlock hardly eats a thing despite both his Mother and Mycroft urging him to eat up. Conversation is stilted and mostly consists of Mrs Holmes interrogating Sherlock about his life and activities. When it's finally over Sherlock escapes speedily leaving John alone with Mrs Holmes and Mycroft, which he finds distinctly unnerving. He is relieved when a moment later Mrs Holmes departs. John is left alone with Mycroft.

"Let's go into the Library" Mycroft suggests, smiling at John, which worries John a great deal "I feel I need to inform you of a few salient facts about life in Winterlight."

The Library is huge and cold and there are literally thousands of books. Mycroft sits down in one of a pair of leather arm chairs which are placed near a huge fireplace complete with fire-dogs. There is no fire despite the cold. John sits down in the other chair.

"There used to be a great hall" Mycroft says suddenly, just as John is wondering why Mycroft wants to talk to him "it was alongside the tower. It's called Greaves Tower, by the way."

"Sherlock told me it's kept locked" says John.

"Yes" says Mycroft "it's been locked since our Father died there. We don't talk about it. I'm telling you because of Sherlock and that's the only reason."

"Sherlock never mentions him" John explains "I didn't know whether he was alive or dead."

"Oh" says Mycroft "he's definitely dead" he laughs, "his coffin is in the Mausoleum. You can go to see it if you wish. I just wanted to warn you not to talk about the tower. Not to anyone, especially Mummy. It conjures, what you might call, unpleasant memories and we don't want unpleasant memories surfacing do we?" 

There is something about the way he speaks and the way he leans forward and touches John's knee as he talks of unpleasant memories that John finds disturbing. Mycroft is always somewhat disturbing anyhow so he dismisses his sensation of anxiety and says "I'll restrain my curiosity, Mycroft, don't worry." He stands up, signaling that he's leaving whatever else Mycroft decides to say.

Mycroft remains seated. "Be very careful, John" he says, as John starts toward the door "you never know what's going to happen in a house this old. History has a way of repeating itself. Don't forget that." This sounds rather like a threat but John dismisses it as Mycroft just being Mycroft.

John makes his way up to the blue room. Luckily, he thinks, he has an excellent sense of direction as he could imagine getting lost in Winterlight could be quite easy to do. He is very surprised to find Sherlock already in bed. He isn't asleep however. He is just lying down on his back looking up at the roof of the four poster, which is covered with intricate carvings of leaves.

"Are you alright?" John asks as he goes into the bathroom.

Sherlock sighs heavily. "I'm fine" he answers. He always says he's fine. John knows it means nothing. 

"Mycroft warned me about the tower" John informs Sherlock "he said mentioning it could call up unpleasant memories. He made it all sound very eerie."

"Mycroft likes to dramatize things" Sherlock says as John emerges from the bathroom and begins to undress.

"I had a feeling that he was serious" John says "he told me your father died there."

"It isn't a secret" says Sherlock "we just don't talk about it."

"You could have told me" says John.

"We don't talk about it" repeats Sherlock stubbornly.

"I suppose your Mother finds it upsetting" John pointed out "I can understand that and that's why she's had it sealed up all these years."

"Mummy couldn't care less about Father" says Sherlock harshly, as John gets into the bed with him "she hated him. In fact, we all hated him."

"Why is the tower sealed up then?' John asks.

"They never arrested anyone for the murder" Sherlock informs John, ignoring his question.

"Don't you wonder who did it?" John says "I would have thought you'd be dying of curiosity even if you did hate him."

Sherlock doesn't answer. He rolls over to face John and suddenly starts to kiss him. John breaks away from the kiss. Sherlock is trying to distract him from the murder and he can't help wondering why. "Don't you wonder about it?" he asks.

"I was eight years old when he died" Sherlock says, and his face has a guarded look "I don't care who did it and nor does anyone else."

"Why is the tower sealed then?" John persists. He has to know. 

Sherlock doesn't answer. "We don't talk about it" he says at last.

"You can tell me" John sighs "you can tell me anything. You know that."

Sherlock rolls away from John and stares upwards again. "Because of me" he says quietly "it's sealed because of me. Because I was there when he died and they're all afraid I'll remember what happened. I'm afraid I'll remember and I don't want to. They found me beside his body. There was---there was a great deal of blood and I was covered in it" he pauses briefly and shudders. "I forgot everything you see and I never want to remember. It's all in a dark place inside me and that's where I want it to stay. That's where they all want it to stay" he stares intently upwards.

"So you probably know who did it" John says, looking at Sherlock, who steadfastly refuses to look his way "it's somewhere in your mind. I know you. You don't forget anything."

Sherlock doesn't answer. He shuts his eyes, signaling an end to the conversation. John lies awake for a long time and when he sleeps he dreams of death.


	3. Revelation.

The next day is the day of the party. Early in the morning John awakes to the sound of the caterers arriving. He wonders what the noise is and looks out of the window and there they are "Pinehaven Caterers", dozens of them it seems. Sherlock is nowhere to be seen so John hurries to wash and dress and goes downstairs to find him. He makes sure he's well wrapped in two jumpers as the house is still very cold. It's a bright sunny day but it's freezing. The trees are heavy with frost.

At the foot of the stairs is Ives, looking worried. He waves a hand at John and says "breakfast room first on the right" before he disappears upstairs. Sherlock is alone in the breakfast room which is a relief and he's actually eating which is a relief too.

There is a long sideboard covered with dishes on hot plates. John helps himself to eggs and bacon. He sits down beside Sherlock who is eating toast and marmalade. "I slept like a log" he says "how long have you been up?"

"Not long" says Sherlock, which could mean anything "I was cold."

"This house is like a tomb" John says and grins "isn't there any heating anywhere?"

"There'll be heat for the party" Sherlock says, miraculously taking another slice of toast and spreading butter on it "it costs a lot to heat this place. That's why Mummy has open days."

"You mean it's open to the public?" John asks, incredulously.

"They find it very interesting evidently" Sherlock sighs.

"I can't believe you were born here" John says "in this museum of a house."

"I was sent away when I was eight" Sherlock explains "I've never lived here since, not for long anyway."

"You were eight when your father was killed" John says "so they sent you away then, did they?"

"I went to School" Sherlock informs him "eight is the usual age."

At that moment Mycroft arrives, sweeping into the room as if he owns the place, which, John thinks, he probably will do some day. He sits down right opposite Sherlock. "Good morning all" he says, with what seems like forced cheerfulness "and how did we sleep?"

Sherlock stands up still holding his partly eaten slice of toast. "Why don't you just fuck off to some hole somewhere where you belong, Mycroft" he says savagely "I'm sure there are sewers everywhere that would make you very welcome."

Mycroft is unfazed by this reaction from his little brother, although John is a bit shocked. "I see you rested well, Sherlock" Mycroft remarks icily "your tongue especially. Mummy will be delighted."

"I'm here" Sherlock says, going to the door still holding his buttered toast "that should be enough for you and if it isn't----well----."

Mycroft helps himself to practically everything that is available and sits down. His plate is heaped high with food. "Another ten pounds of fat" he remarks as he starts to eat "I'll resume my diet when my life is less cluttered." He starts to chuckle loudly. It's quite alarming.

John finishes eating as fast as he can and escapes from Mycroft and his chewing and chuckling. He searches for Sherlock and in the end is told, by a young girl who is obviously some kind of maid, that Sherlock is in the kitchen. John finds him there, sitting at a table with a very fat woman and drinking coffee.

"This is Cookie" Sherlock says as John comes up to the table "she's known me since I was born."

"Would you like some coffee or tea, Dr Watson?" asks Cookie, who has the greenest eyes John has ever seen.

"Tea would be fine, thank you" says John, as he sits down at the table next to Sherlock.

Cookie obviously likes to chat. She watches John for a moment as he sips his tea and then she looks at Sherlock and says "I remember the day he was born. It was freeing cold and snowing and the Doctor got stuck in a snowdrift, so Mary and I had to deliver him. He was a long baby and quite bald but gorgeous all the same. He was such a lovely friendly little boy. He loved everyone and everyone loved him. Everyone except, well you probably know who, I'm sure Sherlock has told you all about it, you being his partner and everything."

John is surprised at this description of his friend and lover. Sherlock friendly and loving to everyone! Maybe he has a twin, John thinks, like in a novel. No, that's a ridiculous idea, something happened and he changed. It must have been the death of his Father, that would be likely to change anyone. 

Cookie continues to talk. Sherlock, or at least her version of Sherlock, was beautiful, intelligent, talented and the kindest boy who ever lived. So different from Mycroft who was only ever interested in himself and so different from both his parents.

All this admiration is hard to swallow so John is actually relieved when he and Sherlock manage to finish their drinks and escape to their room. It's still freezing cold up there so John puts a jacket on over his jumpers and Sherlock puts on his coat. John thinks it might be warmer outside and suggests Sherlock show him the Mausoleum. Sherlock isn't keen on that idea and suggests they go up to the long gallery instead and look at his ancestors. John can't think of anything more boring than looking at rows of pictures of long dead Holmes, but nevertheless he says yes and up to the top floor they go.

The long gallery runs the entire length of the house and has a number of small rooms leading off. All the walls are covered with portraits and photographs. Sherlock describes each one in great detail and John is almost numb with boredom until they arrive at an oil painting of a small boy who is obviously Sherlock. He is standing, legs apart, holding a telescope. It's undoubtedly Sherlock, those almond eyes and dark curls are unmistakable, but it's a different Sherlock somehow. He's smiling and his cheeks are red and he looks sturdy and glowing with health. 

"That's me aged six" says Sherlock unnecessarily.

"You were cute" says John, smiling at Sherlock, who scowls at him.

Before the conversation or the tour can go on there are footsteps behind them and Mycroft appears. "Ah, here you are" he says "taking him on the grand tour are you, Sherlock? Don't forget to show him Captain Holmes, the scourge of the high seas. He ended up with his head on a bridge somewhere."

Sherlock turns on Mycroft. "Go away, Mycroft" he snaps "back to your study or whatever and leave us alone."

"I promised that I would always take care of you" says Mycroft "and I never break my promises."

"I don't need taking care of" Sherlock says and he stamps off, leaving John alone with Mycroft, which he hates.

Mycroft and John stare at the painting. "He was different then" John remarks at last.

"You don't know anything, John" says Mycroft, ignoring John's comment "I've given you every chance, every excuse to get out of this relationship and you're still here."

"I know enough" says John stubbornly.

"You don't know anything" Mycroft repeats, he looks almost sad "Sherlock isn't like other people."

"I don't care" John tells him "and while we're talking, why don't you LEAVE US ALONE." He shouts the last few words and turns to leave the gallery but Mycroft grabs his arm and stops him.

"Sherlock" Mycroft says, still gripping John's arm so tightly that it begins to hurt "is almost certainly a psychopath."

John pulls away from Mycroft and spits out "he's a high functioning sociopath, according to him, but I don't agree with that. He's not that. Not when you get to know him."

Mycroft gives a heavy sigh. "I know my brother" he says "and you don't."

"If anyone around here is a psychopath" John shouts out as he turns to go "it's you." 

Mycroft sighs heavily and then suddenly he starts to look angry. It's frightening because he's actually loosing control right in front of John and he can't imagine Mycroft out of control at all. "You really are an idiot" Mycroft shouts "you have no idea what Sherlock's capable of. No idea at all."

John glares at him and suddenly they are both shouting at each other and they're both out of control and John is loosing it completely and throws a punch at Mycroft and Mycroft falls backward against the wall, holding his jaw. He doesn't fight back. John can see he's calming again, becoming Mycroft once more. "John" he says "I'm warning you as a friend. Sherlock is dangerous. He could be dangerous."

"I don't know what you're talking about" says John "if he's so dangerous tell me what he's done. He must have DONE something. Tell me what it was."

Mycroft sighs and looks straight into John's eyes. "I promised Mummy I would watch over him" he says quietly "after he was assessed and we'd had the diagnosis. We were very calm about it, Mummy and I. We cleaned up everything before we called the Police. There was so much blood, you see. It was even on the ceiling. The floor was running in blood and it was dripping down the stairs. We could smell it as we went in. Our feet slipped on it. He was almost unrecognizable when we found him, he'd been stabbed so many times. They told us later it was over one hundred times and his throat had been cut and his nose and ears had been cut off and his eyes were resting on his cheeks. An attempt had been made to remove his intestines and they were bulging out of one of the stab wounds. We got Sherlock back into his room. No-one but us could ever know. No-one would ever know. Mummy and I made a pact."

"What are you talking about?" John cries, but he already knows. He knows.

"Oh" says Mycroft casually "haven't you figured it out for yourself, John? Sherlock murdered our Father."

The gallery is silent and a dark cloud covers the sun.


	4. There's nothing left in all the world but the blackness of a new night.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mummy's birthday and more revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a short section without punctuation.

Sherlock is standing in front of the long mirror in the blue room tying his bow tie. John sits on the bed watching him. His mind is racing, going over and over and over again the scene earlier that day with Mycroft in the Long Gallery.

Haven't you figured it out for yourself, John? Sherlock murdered our Father. Sherlock murdered our Father. Sherlock murdered our Father. Sherlock murdered our Father. Sherlock murdered our Father. Sherlock murdered our Father. The words keep going round and round in his head until he's dizzy with them. He keeps hearing Mycroft's oily voice and seeing his self satisfied smirk as he speaks and thinking of his own reaction. He did nothing, he said nothing, he just stood, silent with shock, as Mycroft walked away. 

"There" says Sherlock "all done. Now we can go downstairs and be bored to death for an entire evening."

John just nods. His brain is racing. He can't stop thinking about the Long Gallery and Mycroft's words. He can't talk about it with Sherlock. He just can't but he wants to sit down with him and talk and talk but he can't get the words out. He follows Sherlock out of the room and down the wide staircase. Already people are arriving for the party which is being held in the ballroom. John wasn't really surprised to discover that Winterlight had a ballroom, as it's such a huge house. The ballroom is in the East Wing. In fact, the entire ground floor of the East Wing is the ballroom.

There is a buffet and a band and, it seems, everyone in the entire county is there including the local MP and his wife. Mycroft looks impressive in his suit and Mrs Holmes herself is in a long lilac dress which makes her look slightly less like a female Mycroft. John hates dress suits but has to admit to himself that Sherlock looks great in his. He's tall, slim and elegant and John feels small and drab beside him.

The evening drags on. John gets to see the cream of local society dancing and drinking and eating. He also gets to see Sherlock dancing, which is a bit of a revelation as he's very good. "You can dance" John says to him half way through the evening as they stand together watching Mrs Holmes and Mycroft dancing the tango together. Both are excellent dancers.

"Lessons" says Sherlock "Mycroft and I had lessons."

At that moment Mycroft himself comes over to them followed by his Mother. "It's time to dance with Mummy" says Mycroft, smiling, "she wants you especially for the next dance."

Sherlock sighs heavily, but takes his Mother onto the floor. The next moment the band starts to play what John vaguely recognizes, from watching old movies on TV, as the Charleston. Sherlock and his mother make formidable partners. John wonders just how many lessons it took Sherlock to get to such a high standard. Is there anything, he wonders, Sherlock can't do. 

Mycroft leans against the wall and looks at John. "I can see you're thinking about this morning" he says.

"I don't believe it" John retorts "I don't believe a word of it. I saw that painting of him when he was six. That child couldn't murder anyone. I don't believe it."

"You don't have the full facts at your disposal" says Mycroft. He turns away and watches the dancers.

"The full facts?" John hisses "you wouldn't recognize a fact if it jumped up and bit you."

"Fascinating analogy" Mycroft says calmly "bitten by a fact." He laughs. "We found our beloved boy in the act of pulling out his Father's entrails. Is that enough of a fact for you? Or do you require some more grisly details? Like the fact that our little Sherlock had actually tried to cut his Father's head off but hadn't got the strength or the correct knife. Father used to spend hours in the tower. He was writing a family history and he said it was a good place to work. It was just after Christmas and Sherlock was missing. He was always missing. Mummy asked me to help her find him. It was hours past his bedtime. He liked the tower. He used to hunt in the grounds for dead animals and experiment on them in one of the tower rooms. He used to cut them to pieces, you know. We often wondered if he killed the animals himself so we went to the tower and that's what we found, Sherlock and Father and blood. I was in front of Mummy so I saw everything first. I'll never forget how he looked up at me and said "I've killed him for you Mycroft." So, you see, dear John, there's absolutely no doubt at all that he did it. I didn't want to believe it myself, but he admitted it."

"There's obviously an explanation" John tells Mycroft, but before he can say anything else the dance is over and Sherlock and Mrs Holmes are coming toward them.

"Mummy" says Mycroft, smiling sweetly at her "you are a wonder."

Mrs Holmes smiles an almost identical smile back at him. "So are you, darling" she says "now be a good boy and get me a drink before I die of thirst." She sits down in a nearby chair. " Sherlock" she says "I haven't seen you and your Doctor on the floor together yet. I asked the band to play something modern, so you can go and gyrate and jump about or whatever you do nowadays instead of dancing. You'll find Sherlock can do that as well."

John finds himself on the floor opposite Sherlock who can indeed gyrate and jump about, as Mrs Holmes picturesquely put it. In fact, Sherlock is very good. John wonders idly if had had lessons in this too. Finally, hot and sweaty, John follows Sherlock out of the ballroom onto a small terrace, which is miraculously empty.

"Your Mother can dance" John says, taking off his jacket with a sigh of relief.

"It's a family tradition" says Sherlock "we all have to be able to dance. Mummy and Father won several cups when they were young." He looks at John and raises one eyebrow. "What were you and Mycroft talking about?" he asks "you didn't tell me if you talked in the long gallery after I left either."

"Later" John mutters, as a sudden burst of clapping comes from the ballroom "I think we'd better go back in now."

"It's just the cake" says Sherlock.

"We'd better go in then" John tells him stubbornly. He doesn't want to talk about it. He wants to think about it. If there is an explanation he'll find it but not if he has to talk about it with Sherlock, who remembers nothing anyway. If Sherlock has forgotten what happened that's surely a good thing and making him remember could be dangerous. Not because John actually believes he did kill his father but because his Mother and older Brother think he did. John puts his jacket back on and they go back inside the ballroom just in time to see Mrs Holmes attempting to blow out a mass of candles on a three tier cake. She manages it in two goes and everyone claps and cheers. The cake is then whisked away to be cut up.

The dancing goes on and the eating and the conversations and John is introduced to numerous people and Sherlock gets bored and John gets hot and tired and the evening goes on and on and on. It seems never ending and no-one wants to leave. John wonders if he and Sherlock could just go off to their room without anyone noticing but Mycroft keeps coming over to them and they can't get away. Finally it's past two o'clock and at last people start to leave which means John and Sherlock are able to escape to the blue room at last, which, after the heat of the ballroom, is icily cold. 

The bed is freezing and they cuddle together for warmth. "So" says Sherlock, as they finally stop shivering "what did Mycroft say?"

"Let's discuss this in the morning" John says, shutting his eyes "I'm tired." It's difficult to lie to Sherlock and he doesn't fancy a long discussion this time of night and he doesn't know what to say anyway.

"I need to know" says Sherlock "tell me, John."

"I can't just now" John says "I'll tell you in the morning."

"I need to know" Sherlock repeats "you've been distant all day. I know Mycroft. He's said something and I want to know exactly what it was."

John rolls onto his back and tries to compose his thoughts into some kind of reasonable and sensible order. He's very tired and it's strikingly difficult. Finally he says "he said you killed your Father." He waits for an explosion of denials or at least some kind of angry reaction but nothing happens.

"Oh" Sherlock says at last "he told you that did he? Well, I'm surprised he told you."

John rolls back to face Sherlock and suddenly he's shouting out "you mean you actually did it, you did kill your own Father?"

Sherlock sighs "we don't know who did it" he says, quietly.

"Why do they think you did it then?" John is still shouting, he can't seem to stop himself, it's the way Sherlock is so calm and matter of fact about the whole thing that bothers him so much. It's as if he doesn't care if his closest relations think he's a murdering psychopath.

"Mycroft told me that I said I did it" Sherlock says "I don't remember. I don't like to think about it. I didn't want to come back here. I never want to be in Winterlight. It's an evil place. We'll leave tomorrow and I'll never come back."

"Don't you care that they think you murdered someone when you were eight?" John asks "don't you ever wonder who actually did kill him?"

"Afterward, they sent me away to school" says Sherlock "you don't think they'd have sent me to school if they really believed I was a child murderer do you?"

"Didn't the Police investigate" John asks.

"The Police were just as hopeless then as they are now" Sherlock says firmly "they thought it might have been a tramp. Idiotic notion. A murdering tramp who never murders again."

"I don't understand why Mycroft told me you admitted doing it" John says.

"Perhaps I did" Sherlock mutters "perhaps I did actually kill him and admit it. I don't remember. The last thing I can remember happening that day was getting up in the morning. Then it was the next day. I forgot an entire day. I don't want to think about it in case I did kill him. He had a terrible temper and when he was drunk he used to loose all control. He used to beat Mycroft and he hit me numerous times. When he was finally dead we were all relieved."

"I don't believe you could murder someone" John tells Sherlock "not now and not when you were eight."

"I just don't know" Sherlock says and suddenly there's anguish in his voice "I don't know what happened and I don't want to find out in case it's true and I did kill him. Mummy and Mycroft don't know either but they've always been afraid I'll find out. That's why Mycroft is the way he is. One of the reasons anyhow. All these years he's had to watch me and follow everything I do in case I remember and I did it. I think he and Mummy have decided I must have done it but they can never be sure. Every time I catch a murderer I wonder if I'm one too. It's as if I'm searching for myself when I'm searching for them. It haunts me that tower. I see it in dreams looming up at me out of the darkness and I see myself climbing up the steps and climbing and climbing but the steps never end and I never find what I'm looking for. Drugs took away the doubt. I knew I was innocent when I took drugs. I saw myself surrounded by golden lights and I knew I was innocent but they always wore off and I came down and nothing had changed."

John wraps his arms around Sherlock. "You are innocent" he says "I know it."

"You don't know it" Sherlock moans.

John is stubborn and his voice is firm. "I know it" he says and Sherlock believes him, for that moment anyway.

Sunday morning brings thick heavy snow. The world is white and the sky is heavy and it's silent and nothing is moving. Sherlock and John can't leave Winterlight. They are marooned as surely as if they are shipwrecked sailors on an uncharted island. They are stuck in Winterlight and Sherlock is miserable. He lies in bed and refuses to get up or eat. John has breakfast alone, relieved that Mycroft is nowhere in sight. After breakfast he wraps up as warmly as he can and ventures out into the grounds. He treads through the snow and goes to look at the tower.

The tower is six stories high. John wonders how many steps it takes to reach the top. He has an overwhelming desire to go inside. He looks somewhat guiltily around and no-one is in sight so he tries the door. It opens with a loud creak and then he's inside and there is a flight of narrow winding stairs right in front of him and he starts to ascend and up and up he goes and there are small landings with doors leading off but they'll all locked and he continues up and up and then he hears footsteps somewhere beneath him and he hurries up higher and higher and the footsteps follow him and he reaches the top and emerges out into the world and the view is magnificent and he can see the whole county stretched out before him like a white map and then he hears two voices and one is shouting and he recognizes the other and it's Mycroft and he thinks oh God Mycroft how will I explain why I'm here and then he thinks the door was open so why shouldn't I be here and the second voice is screaming and Mycroft is shouting and his words echo and echo and John hears everything and then the footsteps are coming toward him and Mycroft is there and he's coming nearer and nearer and John is falling and falling and the snow is rising to meet him and he's falling and falling and the world is white and white and white and a sudden blackness meets him and fills his vision and there's nothing left in all the world but the blackness of a new night.


	5. The snow falls and the world is crisp and clean again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock searches for John and has a shock in the tower.

Sherlock lies in bed and thinks. He's always thinking. In fact, he sometimes wishes he could stop thinking. He's trying to remember the tower. For years its haunted his dreams and disturbed his sleep and he's attempted, with some success, to banish it from his mind but now he purposefully thinks about it. The tower is inextricably linked with his Father. What was he doing in there? Oh yes, he was writing a book. At least, that's what he said he was doing. Was he really writing a book in there? He tries to remember if anyone actually saw the famous book, or even mentioned it, apart from Father, but he can't.

He suddenly remembers creeping inside the tower one evening, when he should have been in bed, and looking for the book, or at least, evidence of writing. One door on the third floor was locked and he remembers putting his ear to it and listening and then----- his mind is a blank. Was that THE NIGHT? Was that when everything changed? He tries to think about his Father. Yes, that's quite easy. Father shouting "you little bastard" and hitting him, he could bear that, it was an explosion of temper and then it was over and Mary would cuddle him and make him feel better and treat his cuts and bruises. His Mother never cuddled him. It was only Mary or Cookie. He remembers wishing that Mary was his Mother. What would life have been like if that were true, he wonders.

Worse was when his Father was angry but coldly in control of himself. "Come here you little bastard. Come here." Then he'd remove his belt, very slowly and ---. Yes, even after all these years he can remember the pain of the belt hitting his bare skin and the sound of his screams, his Father's hoarse panting and the feeling of wetness on his body. Oh shit, oh hell. The memories wash over him and he remembers. He remembers turning back to look at his Father because he's stopped beating him and he's waiting for the sign that it's over, and he turns and his Father is unfastening his trousers and then the pain, worse than anything and he bears it because, he's a child, what else can he do? He's crying and begging for it to stop and shouting out for help, but they're in the tower and no-one comes to save him. No-one ever comes.

When ever he thought of sex after that the memory of his Father filled his mind. He was disgusted with his body and its needs and afraid of loosing control like his Father. It was only John, so gentle and patient and loving that showed him how to love someone with your whole being, body and mind. He has never said he loves John. He is afraid, and afraid to admit he's afraid. It's been so long since he felt love for anyone, not since he was a small boy, before his world changed for ever and became dark and threatening and terrifying.

His mind is suddenly blank again. He pictures the tower looming out of the darkness and then he's back inside and the memories return and his Father has finished with him and he's lying on the ground crying and bleeding. His Father has gone and he's alone until Mycroft comes running in. He's shouting "he's here, Mummy." He remembers nothing more so it couldn't have been THE NIGHT, it must have been some other night because he's alone. So what happened then? Did his Father rape him yet again? He can't remember. Trying to remember makes his head ache and his eyes feel strange as if he wants to cry, but he never cries.

He sits up in bed and suddenly wonders where on earth John is. He doesn't normally disappear. He's actually hard to get rid of. He's always there, worrying about food or sleep or something. Where is he? Sherlock gets up, washes and dresses and goes to look for him. He isn't in the house and no-one has seen him. It's weird. He thinks again of the tower. John wanted to look at the view. Suppose he's gone there and something has happened to him. He can't imagine life now without John. He's like the other half of himself. A better part of himself. The part that died with his Father in the tower all those years ago. What would he have been like without all that drama, he wonders. He remembers being very small and everyone making a great fuss of him and ruffling his curls. He remembers he was different once, but it's like a dream. He goes back upstairs and puts on his coat, boots and gloves, gets his gun and ventures out into the snow, which is now lying thickly in drifts.

The door to the tower is open. Sherlock can't believe his eyes. The door is open and inside all the wall lights, that he'd forgotten existed, are switched on, he can see the glow of them glinting through the wide open door. He takes a deep breath and goes inside. It's like his dream. He starts to ascend the staircase. He goes up to the third floor and looks at the doors. There are two doors and they're both open. He looks in one door and it's a bathroom. A modern, well equipped bathroom, with a toilet, sink, shower and bath. The other room is a small bed sitting room. Someone has used the bed and yesterday's paper is still lying on a table. Then he hears footsteps and whirls around and there, framed in the doorway, is a person he recognizes only too well even after twenty-four years. "Father!" he exclaims and then everything turns black and he feels himself falling into darkness.

Sherlock opens his eyes and he's lying flat on his back on a bed. He looks around and isn't really surprised to see Mycroft is beside him. He sits up and looks around. "I saw Father" he says to Mycroft "I wasn't dreaming or hallucinating. He was here."

"Of course he was" snaps Mycroft angrily "he's been here for years."

"But you said--" Sherlock starts and then a wave of rage so acute it makes him dizzy washes over him. A red mist rises in front of his eyes and the next thing he knows he's off the bed and Mycroft is on the floor and he's strangling him. Mycroft's face is turning red and then blue and it's very satisfying hearing him gasping for breath. While he's throttling his brother he's shouting at him "you told me he was dead, you told me I'd killed him, you told me all those lies and I believed you, all these years I've believed you and all the time it was lies. You and Mummy let me think I'd killed him and you told John I'd killed him and you knew all the time he was alive. I'm going to kill you. I'm going to squeeze and squeeze until you're dead and then I'll be free."

Mycroft is fading out like a dying light bulb and his eyes shut and his gasping stops. Sherlock grips his throat tightly just to be sure, but before he can be certain Mycroft is dead his Father is pulling him away with surprising strength and shouting "let him go you little bastard, it's not his fault." Sherlock lets go. He can't fight his Father and Mycroft and the memory of his Father's abuse is still heavy in his mind.

Mycroft is a strong man. For a moment Sherlock thinks he is actually dead, but then his eyes open and he's gasping again and clutching at his throat. Sherlock sits back on his heels. "I don't understand any of this" he says "I don't understand what's going on. I'm going to wake up in a moment and find I'm dreaming aren't I?"

"I killed my brother" says his Father "he'd been in Africa for years and he came back so I killed him. Luckily no-one knew he'd come here. He just became another missing person. I've been hiding ever since, writing my book and escaping prison. For years I lived abroad. Then I came back here and your Mother and Mycroft hid me here in the tower. For a long time they thought I was dead like everyone else did."

"But this is a prison, isn't it?" says Sherlock.

"The Family name had to be protected" his Father explains "I couldn't ruin Mycroft's life, could I?"

"None of this makes any sense" says Sherlock, shaking his head "why didn't you just say he was your brother and you didn't know what had happened to him?"

His Father laughs. "Because of you" he says "because of you and your creeping about and nosing around. You saw everything and we couldn't risk you remembering. If you remembered you would have told the Police. You had such an overwhelming sense of right and wrong. We couldn't risk it. You must have been in the tower, creeping about, when we argued and fought and I killed him. I mutilated his body so there'd be no doubt it was me. We were identical twins, you see. You saw the whole thing and when your Mother and Mycroft came searching for you you were sitting beside the body covered in his blood. I escaped that night and they took you back to the house and washed you and put you to bed. You were like a zombie and you forgot everything, but we couldn't be sure you wouldn't remember some day, could we?"

"So you let me think I'd done it" Sherlock shouts "you ruined my life to save Mycroft. I'm your son too. What about me?"

"You're his son, not mine" says his Father "that's why I killed him. He raped your Mother and so I killed him."

"I don't believe you" Sherlock shouts.

"It's true" Mycroft croaks hoarsely "I saw Mummy after it happened. I know it's true." He's still holding his throat.

"Oh God" Sherlock says, and he starts to cry bitter tears, the first tears he has shed for as long as he can remember. Then he remembers he was looking, not for his Father, but for John. "Where's John?" he asks "have you killed him too?"

"He was here in the tower" says Mycroft "he went up to the roof. I started toward him to tell him it wasn't safe and part of the parapet gave way and he fell."

Sherlock jumps to his feet. "I don't care what happens to any of you" he says to them as he heads for the stairs "and I don't give a fuck about the Family name either. All I care about is John and if he's dead I'll kill both of you." He reaches the door and turns, just in time to see his Father pull a gun out of his pocket. 

"You aren't leaving here" says his Father, and his voice is that cold, calculating horror Sherlock remembers from his dreams "I can't let you go now you know everything, can I?"

Mycroft is sitting up and he looks at his Father. His face is filled with unexpected sorrow. "I can't let you do that" he says to his Father calmly. There is one shot and his Father falls backward onto the floor, dropping his gun, blood oozing from a hole in his chest. "Go and find your John" Mycroft says "I can deal with everything here, after all, he's been dead for twenty-four years, hasn't he? I've covered for him for long enough. I loved him because he was my Father, but I love you too. You're the only brother I have. I should have fixed this ages ago but it was like a roller coaster that got away from me. I've lied and cheated and tried to ruin your life all for him, and I'm truly sorry. I had to protect him, you see. I had to do anything I could to protect him, even if it meant lying to you and lying to John. I loved him, but I was afraid of him too. Fear can make you do some dreadful things. I knew whatever I said to John he wouldn't believe it. I kept making it worse and worse because I was afraid. I wanted to kill him but I was afraid. I'm a coward. I'm a talker, not a doer. I'm so sorry. I'll sort everything. Go and find your John."

Sherlock stares at Mycroft in amazement. He can't believe what he's hearing. He's never heard Mycroft say he was sorry for anything in his entire life. It doesn't even begin to make up for everything he's put Sherlock through but it's a small start. He runs to go and find John. He searches in the deep snow that now covers every inch of the ground and there, deep in a snowdrift, is his lover and only friend and, by some miracle, he's still breathing. Sherlock kneels in the snow beside him. "John" he says quietly "oh my John. I can't live without you. I love you so much." He bends over and kisses John's cold lips. Tears drip down his face and fall onto John's cheeks.

"You're crying" says a faint voice. John's eyes open and he reaches up and touches Sherlock's face with a cold hand. "I think I'm OK" he says "I was just stunned and I'm absolutely frozen." He sits up and with Sherlock's help manages to get to his feet. He's stumbling and shuddering with cold and shock but he's alive and Sherlock's heart is singing.

They stand together, wobbling in the snow and suddenly Winterlight is surprisingly beautiful. The sky is still heavy with snow but everything is lighter and brighter than it's ever been before. John looks at Sherlock. "I can't live without you either" he says "I love you so much." They wrap their arms about each other and go back to the house. The snow falls and the world is crisp and clean again.

THE END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an experiment in writing an entire story in the first person. It didn't turn out quite as well as I thought it might but I hope some people enjoy reading it nevertheless.


End file.
